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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24875440">Age is a Number and Gender an Illusion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat/pseuds/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat'>3HobbitsInATrenchcoat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lies We Only Tell Ourselves [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gender Dysphoria, Non-Binary Soos, Non-Binary Stanley Pines, Non-binary character, Personal Growth, Trans Dipper Pines, unsupportive parents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:21:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24875440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat/pseuds/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley Pines has never quite felt comfortable in his own skin, but sometimes a little jump-start is all a journey of self-discovery needs.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dipper Pines &amp; Mabel Pines &amp; Stan Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez &amp; Stan Pines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lies We Only Tell Ourselves [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>158</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Education</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24790414">Free</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/emjam/pseuds/emjam">emjam</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I read Free by emjam earlier last week and was IMMEDIATELY in love with the idea of non-binary Stanley. But their work was the only one that existed so I had to write my own. It's in three parts, and they're already written, just cleaning them up and posting them as I go. A lot of this is based on my own experiences as an Enby Person, so like... my take might be different from other people and that's ok.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow, Stanley Pines always knew that there was something different about him. Something that wasn't the lost twin and the machismo and the neverending con man gigs. There was just something about his own mere existence that set his teeth on edge at inopportune moments and made him want to lay face down on his mattress and not move for a very long time.</p>
<p>It's not that he didn't like his own body. It was just that sometimes he looked in the mirror and his hair seemed too short and his jaw seemed too sharp and the angles of his body sat just shy of the correct places. On days like that he layered up and refused to meet his own eyes in the mirror for fear of what he would see. It didn't really get better with age, but at least by then his body was betraying him in other ways and there were more important things to worry about.</p>
<p>Monsters in the woods tended to put things in perspective after all. He should just be thankful he still has a body.</p>
<p>It's not that he wanted to wear different clothes... well not always. It was just that he told himself he liked fine fabrics because for so long he had been living rough and on the run with no access to nice things. He resisted the urge to run his hands across the soft silks he passed in the big box stores on his way to the men's department and instead settled for high thread count sheets. It was nice, but it didn't stop the daydreams of sweeping majestically down hallways like some dramatic ghost.</p>
<p>He might lounge about the house in ratty boxers and an even rattier tank top but damnit, let a man have dreams. Even if they left some sort of nebulous ache where his heart should be that he steadfastly ignored because it was just an idle thought.</p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>After the third or so time he woke up from an ill-remembered dream in a cold sweat, he started keeping a soft robe by his bed. The air against his bare legs and the rasp of his usual clothes made his mind scream in ways that he couldn't quite put into words. He'd get up and wrap himself in cozy knit warmth before stumbling down to the kitchen for a pot of tea, which he'd drink while purposefully not thinking about anything. Because if he didn't think about it he couldn't panic.</p>
<p>And some days, weeks, months, one time even years... he'd feel fine. He'd be content with his shape and his face and his old man body hair growing in increasingly strange places. But then someone at the grocery store would call him “Sir” or he'd catch his profile out of the corner of his eye at just the wrong angle, and it was back to square one of burying the feelings until they didn't exist.</p>
<p>He'd gotten a little too good about ignoring things over the years. So when the kiddos show up for the summer, he could just go about business as usual. No eye contact with mirrors on days he felt off, warm tea and robe on nights he couldn't sleep, and pass off the moments when his mind wandered too deep as the carelessness of old age.</p>
<p>Stan didn't count on the perceptiveness and tenacity of not-quite-teens and his own employees.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>He'd expected some strangeness right off the bat, the kids were Pines offspring after all. Bound to be a little out of the ordinary. Something in the blood his Ma had once said. Also his niece-in-law had been real cagey when discussing the summer plans. He could smell a con at ten paces and the conversation fucking <em>reeked. </em>His suspicion only increased when he got a letter mere days later with a bunch of instructions from the kids that directly contradicted their mother.</p>
<p>But he'd prepped the attic for his niblings (neutrally as requested by the note, despite insistence from their ma that “the two <em>girls </em>are so happy to see their Grunkle” and didn't that emphasis leave a bad taste in his mouth) and was met at the bus by... one overly bouncy chattery Mabel and an extremely uncomfortable-looking Dipper. If Stan was a stupid man he would have fallen for Mabel's distraction, but instead he waited for the bus to leave before dropping down in front of Dipper. He ignored the ominous creak in his kneecaps and the weight of Mabel hanging off one arm.</p>
<p>“Hey kiddo,” he said, tweaking the cap just a smidge. “I got the note saying you're going by Dipper for now, so no worries from this old man.” He paused and considered his next words carefully before deciding the gamble was worth it. “I might be old but I'm not an idiot, son. Did Mabel cut your hair on the way up?”</p>
<p>Mabel froze where she was clinging to Stan's arm. Dipper's eyes, focused on the ground just a second before, snapped up to meet Stan's. His mouth was open in a round “O” and his eyes sparkled with tears as he launched himself at his Grunkle. Stan let out an “oof” and let himself be knocked to the ground, his fez tumbling a few feet away.</p>
<p>“From that rather enthusiastic reaction I'm gonna guess I was right, kids.” He ruffled a head of hair with each hand before starting the struggle to sit up. “No worries, your secret is safe with me. I am a masterful keeper of other people's secrets.” He grinned as disarmingly as he could and the children thankfully did not ask what other secrets he kept.</p>
<p>That evening the kiddos were pretty tuckered out from their travels and turned in early. Stan was glad for it, it had been an emotional day for him as well. It was one thing to receive a nervous letter requesting a specific name and pronouns, quite another to see your grand-niblings visibly worried that you were gonna be some kind of intolerant fuckup. Maybe once upon a time, when the world was a less magical place and being different spelled a death sentence, he'd been a less informed person... but not now. He had enough regrets to fill multiple lifetimes, he didn't need to add Dipper to the list.</p>
<p>Stan rubbed at his eyes and flopped down into his favorite chair, warm robe wrapped around his body and a carton of ice-cream in one hand. He'd taken a single glance in the mirror and done a full body shudder before snatching his robe off the hook and thumping back downstairs. Sleep could wait, he had reading to do anyway.</p>
<p>For once it wasn't Journal #2 (which was safely in the basement away from curious children), but a notebook he'd bribed Soos into compiling. He didn't have internet at the shack and didn't want to be caught in the library in town so he couldn't very well do research and besides... he was very busy with important things. Like getting his damn brother back, and fleecing unsuspecting tourists. Yes, very important things.</p>
<p>But there was a small part of his brain that whispered that maybe he just was afraid of what he might find if he went looking hard enough, and if someone else did the research then maybe he could avoid his own thoughts. So he'd paid Soos to go “print out a bunch of stuff on this transgender thing the kids wrote me about, I don't wanna fuck something this important up” and off Soos went, though the considering tilt of his head and sudden glint of understanding in his eyes was a little unnerving.</p>
<p>Now Stan flipped through the book Soos had so helpfully put together. He'd expected maybe a couple articles stapled together but Soos had put it all in a binder and even made notes on some of it. When Stan asked him why he'd gone through all the effort, he'd just shrugged and mumbled something about liking organized research in high school. Well, Stan appreciated it, even if he wasn't going to admit that too loudly.</p>
<p>He'd skimmed most of it the week before the kids arrived, but had only read the bits that seemed most relevant. Honestly a lot of it went right over his head, but he really had to try, he owed Dipper that. Tonight he was going to read one article at a time, pen in hand, and try to make sense of everything.</p>
<p>Stan got about two articles in before he put the notebook down with a strangled “Fuck” and a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard and mechanically put everything away before wrapping his robe tightly around himself and making his way to bed. He looked straight ahead, avoided reflective surfaces, and finally had a word to put to his own stupid feelings.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Acceptance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little push, a little shove, a little bit of friendship... to sit you down at the table and tell you that you aren't alone and that gender is a social construct.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next couple weeks were... weird. Even for Gravity Falls. Thankfully that meant that Stan had no time to think about the notebook stuffed down the back of his armchair. He was too busy wondering why the gnomes were suddenly super active and where the fuck the kids kept disappearing to all the time. He hoped they weren't caught up in the strange happenings around the town but... what was he thinking?! They're Pines kids, of course they're immediately going to attract all the weirdest shit around.</p><p>Ford would probably have something to say about this... and that's where Stan ground his musings to a halt and went right back to watching mindless television. It had been a good day: he'd made a lot of money, had a breakthrough on the portal, and his dysphoria or whatever it was was FINALLY leaving him the fuck alone for the first time in weeks. He'd been able to look in the mirror that morning without feeling like someone was dancing on his grave.</p><p>Thank goodness because his nose hairs really needed a pluck and that was hard to do if you couldn't face your own reflection.</p><p>With a content sigh, Stan relaxed into his recliner before wincing and yanking the notebook out from where it was stabbing him in the spine. He drummed his fingers across the cover, weighing his options. He knew enough to be moral support for Dipper, he could leave it at that and deal with the bouts of discomfort the same way he always had. Or he could read further and see if there was anything to the dysphoria... if he'd really been conning himself all along.</p><p>He smirked at his own joke, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Hauling himself out of the recliner, he padded his way into the kitchen and went about making himself a hot cup of tea. After a long moment of thought he splashed some rum in the cup as well. If he was gonna deal with this while relatively stable he deserved some sort of reward.</p><p>Stan spread the book open on the kitchen table, resisting the urge to take what seemed like private research into the basement. This had nothing to do with that damn portal and he couldn't risk the crossover. Also, if he had some kind of panic or negative reaction like last time... the portal workshop wasn't the safest place. The kitchen was warm, cozy, comforting, and had a near endless supply of hot tea and rum.</p><p>He could do this.</p><p>-----</p><p>Stan awoke the next morning to his back SCREAMING at him and cheap printer ink sticking even cheaper paper to his face. He sniffed and the smell of pancakes and coffee pulled him back into the realm of the living. Blinking crusties from his eyes, he registered three things: one, morning sunlight was streaming across the kitchen table where his notebook was open for anyone to see; two, the kiddos were nowhere in sight; three, Soos was flipping pancakes on the stove and wearing some frilly apron straight out of Stans nightmares and Mabel's daydreams.</p><p>“Oh, hey dude,” said Soos over his shoulder as he flipped another pancake. “Ya looked pretty out of it so I ran the early tour for ya. Wendy's got the next one, so I figured I'd make you some food.” He slid a plate of pancakes right under Stan's nose and his mouth watered. He'd been reading for so long... what time was it?</p><p>He expected Soos to leave, but instead the younger man took off his apron and sat down heavily in the chair across from him. “So, the kids are helping Wendy and won't bother us for a bit. You wanna talk about it?”</p><p>Stan blinked owlishly and Soos poked the binder towards him. “It helps if you have someone to talk to, you know. I might be well... me, but this is serious stuff. Needs serious conversation.”</p><p>Stan forked a bite of pancake into his mouth and avoided eye contact. Across the table, Soos sighed and spun the binder around to flip idly through the pages. “I made this binder for myself, ya know,” he said after a bit, and Stan whipped his head up to look at Soos.</p><p>“What.” He croaked through a bite of pancake before ineffectively trying to wash it down with coffee still on the way-too-hot side. He spluttered for a moment before trying again. “I asked you for it, didn't I?”</p><p>“Well yeah, but it wasn't doing me any good laying around so I cleaned it up a bit and passed it on.” Soos shrugged and flipped another page. “Already served its purpose, ya know?” He smiled, but it was a smile Stan knew well from his own face and it sat wrong on the usually chipper Soos. “Anyway, I've seen the way you flinch away from mirrors and thought 'Maybe Mr. Mystery needs some advice about his own mystery' and... I was wrong wasn't I? I can take it back, you can fire me I guess, I just... I just thought I should help.” He started to stand up but Stan glared at him.</p><p>“Sit back down, kid. I'm not gonna fire you.” Stan chewed his pancake a few more minutes before pushing it away with a grimace. It was good, but conversations like this turned taste to ash in his mouth. “If you don't mind my asking, what did you learn?”</p><p>“Oh that's easy!” This time the wide grin met Soos's eyes. “I'm Soos. I'm content to just be me. I don't sit solidly in any definition and that's ok. I'm my own person and comfortable in my own skin. Cinnamon rolls not gender roles and all that.”</p><p>Stan wasn't sure he quite followed that last bit but the rest made some sort of sense. “So, not quite male, not quite female, but something else? Something in the middle?”</p><p>“Nah dude, I prefer to think of it as floating above, ignoring all the nonsense,” he made some kind of wavy hand gesture that Stan wasn't sure how to interpret. “But if you're wondering about pronouns and stuff, I still use he/him. It's what makes others comfortable and I just don't care either way. Sometimes people use they/them and that's nice but not like... necessary.”</p><p>“And you think I might be like you? Somewhere above?” Stan thought about it but it just didn't fit. The description felt off to the side of where he should be aiming. Soos was shaking his head.</p><p>“Everybody is different,” Soos paused before flipping back through the book and turning it around to point out a page to Stan. “There's a whole bunch of terms but they all kind of fall under this.”</p><p>The page held open for Stan had a header across the top that said “Non-Binary.” He recalled reading it the night before but soon after he'd passed out and he didn't think all the information had fully registered. Stan stared down at the page for several long moments before looking grimly back up at his loyalest employee.</p><p>“I'm gonna read this, and then I'm gonna have questions because I am an old man still stuck in the 80s.” He swallowed hard and looked away, no longer able to meet Soos's eyes. “I think Wendy and the kids can handle the shop for one day and I know you're old enough to drink. Let's take this out on the back porch with some beer, I think I'm gonna need it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Stan is really glad Dipper didn't overhear the full beginning of that conversation about toughening him up, because it was private and also Stan might have been a little emotional.</p><p>Also, that line about nose hair is the most cursed thing I've ever written and I have zero regrets.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Freedom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not even the apocalypse can stop the inevitable.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Last chapter! Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end, that conversation was the first of many Stan and Soos had out on the back porch that summer. Stan had a lot of questions. How did things work if you didn't want to transition medically? Could he still use the old man shtick? What was he going to tell the kids? And so on, and so forth.</p><p>Through it all Soos smiled and nodded and clicked his beer can with Stan's in “solidarity.” It was nice, having someone to talk to about all the weird dysphoria things that had been slowly worming their way into his daily life over the years without Stan even noticing.</p><p>Of course, right as Stan was getting comfortable again is when everything went to shit.</p><p>He'd expected Ford to be a little mad, maybe. Yell a bit, get it all out of his system and then forgive him. They were twins, he had to! Sure, they hadn't spoken in 30 years, but what was three decades between twins? Besides, he had to be grateful to be brought back from... wherever he'd gotten dragged off to. Right?</p><p>Stan didn't see either punch coming, one intentional and the other somehow more hurtful because he couldn't let Ford see its impact.</p><p>“You look like dad.”</p><p>And didn't that just sting. He looked like the man that had kicked him out of the only home he'd ever known. He looked like a man. He... Stan swallowed hard and laughed the comment off but his thoughts spiraled. He lay awake staring at the ceiling far into the night, listening to the creaking of a house that had never been truly his.</p><p>After that, everything blurred together. Stan moved through the days in a thick haze only hidden by his usual con-man charm. The kids were clearly too enamored by their new Grunkle Ford to take note and Ford didn't know him well enough anymore to tell the difference anyway. Soos though... Stan caught Soos frowning in his direction more than once.</p><p>Stan was just locking up after the last tourists one evening when Soos cleared his throat behind him. It was an effort not to jump, but Stan managed. He turned to see his employee holding out a Pitt Cola bottle and tilting his head towards the porch sofa.</p><p>“You look like you need a break, dude.” Soos raised one eyebrow and Stan let his shoulders slump.</p><p>“Yeah, probably.” Stan took the bottle and stared at it, not quite seeing it as he dropped heavily onto the sofa. He let it dangle between his fingers for several long minutes before he lifted it to take a sip. Soos bumped his shoulder affectionately.</p><p>“Hell of a week, huh?” Soos means well, Stan knows he does, but it's hard to stop the bitter laughter that rises from his chest.</p><p>“I wouldn't know, kid. I've been keeping my head down and just going a day at a time.” He glances up and sees his facial expression register with Soos, who frowns.</p><p>“Did something happen?” Soos asks, and holds up a hand before Stan can respond with <em>What kind of question is that? My brother is back from the dead?! </em>“I mean, something else. You seemed ok when I left after the whole portal thing but... you've been pretty much a zombie all week. And I know it's not entirely related to Mr. Ford because I watched you flinch away from your reflection in the vending machine like... 2 hours ago.”</p><p>Stan lets himself sink further into the ancient sofa. He's loosened his tie, but the gold chain around his neck is starting to weigh him down and he feels an inexplicable need to rip it off and chuck it at a wall. He wants to get rid of his clothes and... and his face and he wants to crawl into bed until he feels more human. Because right now he feels more like an amorphous gray blob.</p><p>He settles for gripping the chain tightly in one hand and staring sightlessly into the woods beyond his porch. “Nothing to worry about, Soos. Just had a lot on my mind.”</p><p>Soos doesn't press, and Stan is glad for it. He's sure the kid would understand if he said “well, I was good until my brother pointed out the family resemblance to my father and now he's all I can see in the mirror” but... putting that into words felt like it would take more energy than he currently possessed. He'd do it later, once the world didn't feel like so much mush around him.</p><p>And then he ran out of time.</p><p>-----</p><p>Everything comes back slowly. Names are the first things, slipping out before he has time to attach any other shards of memory to them. Of course, the very first name he remembers is the damn pig's and he's sure no one will ever let that go.</p><p>Other things take a long time. He wakes up some mornings and doesn't recognize his own face in the mirror, stumbling through the following day in a fog of discomfort. He sees Soos watching him out of the corners of his eyes, Ford and the kids frowning and whispering among themselves, and thinks maybe there is something important that he has missed in the long scrapbook memory sessions.</p><p>Mabel finally brings it up after he's been moping around the Shack for 48 hours, wandering with no destination and not even trying to hide that he's avoiding reflective surfaces. Stan watches her make eye contact with Dipper, whose mouth thins into a grim line before he nods, eyes communicating vast sentences the way Stan and Ford used to. He doesn't have time to wonder what that's all about though, because Mabel grabs his arm and drags him into the kitchen.</p><p>“Alright, Grunkle Stan.” She says once she's gently pushed him into a chair and settled herself in the one opposite. “There's something wrong and everyone can tell, so spill.”</p><p>Before Weirdmageddon Stan might have bristled at this claim that he wasn't living up to his con-man persona, but now he just sighs and picks at his shirt sleeve. “Everyone, huh? It's just the stress, kiddo. Once I remember everything I'll be fine.”</p><p>This just makes Mabel's frown deepen, it looks wrong on her cheerful face. “We've gone through my scrapbook a lot, you and Grunkle Ford have watched so many family tapes... I don't know what else you could be missing. All I know is...” she pauses and glances back down the hall to where the rest of the family is scattered across the house. When she speaks again her voice is very small. “You're acting like Dipper. From before. It's been going on all summer, but we thought maybe it was our imaginations. It got worse when Grunkle Ford came back and now... you're starting to scare me a little. Not, not of you!” she hurries to explain, watching the widening of Stan's eyes. “I'm scared for you!”</p><p>Stan blinks at her for a moment, fragments of memory blinking awake in the deep recesses of his brain. He hardly feels himself push back from the table. “I... wait here, Mabel. I think there's something we need to see.”</p><p>Muscle memory guides him down the hall and into his room, stops him in front of his bookshelf and he doesn't think as he grabs a binder from the very top. He flips through the pages and lets memories wash over him: Beer and laughter on the back porch, crying in frustration as he tries to mesh old feelings with new discoveries, pancakes with Soos after a long day of gray nothingness.</p><p>It all slots into place and Stan feels lighter. He takes a deep breath and looks around his own room, understanding filling the gray of his mind and coloring his thoughts. Stan could almost laugh as he remembers why the worn robe on the end of his bed brings him comfort and why his nails have felt so bare the past few weeks.</p><p>Mabel is waiting for him, and he doesn't want to worry her. He wraps the robe around himself and shoves a couple bottles of nail color he's never dared to wear (having opted for clear to avoid questions) into the pockets. He scoops the notebook up and is out the door and halfway down the hallway when he hears voices in the kitchen.</p><p>“... got up and ran out babbling about needing to see something, Dip. I just dunno, he's been gone a while and I'm getting worried.” Mabel's voice floated down the hallway, followed closely by her brother's.</p><p>“Hey, chin-up, sis. It's probably important.” There's the scrape and thump of someone sitting down at the table. “If he's not back in another five minutes we can go look for him.”</p><p>Stan slowed his pace as he took the final few steps into the kitchen. Fortunately, only Dipper had joined Mabel at the table. The kids looked up as he entered the room and he couldn't help but shrink back as their eyes took in the robe and notebook he had clenched between his hands so tightly his knuckles were white.</p><p>He took a deep breath and held the notebook out to Mabel. “I asked Soos to make this when you two sent me that letter. I wanted to be informed and...” he chuckled to himself. “I informed myself a little too well. I figured out some things about myself that I had been ignoring for a very long time. I'm still not sure, but you two deserve to know.”</p><p>Stan stopped and swallowed hard. “Keep in mind I only just remembered the words for it, but if I recall correctly I've been talking with Soos about this all summer.” He's stalling and he knows he's stalling but his grand-niblings need to know the truth, there have been too many secrets in this family and that stops now. His throat works as he tries to force the words out so he screws his eyes closed and forges onward. There is no turning back from this once it's out in the open.</p><p>“I'm... I'm non-binary.” It's the first time he's ever said it out loud and the words seem to hang in the air. Soos understood from the beginning and he'd never had to actually say it, but maybe he should have. For practice, for this. So he wouldn't be standing in the kitchen with tears gathering behind his closed eyelids at how right the words sound.</p><p>For a moment there's no response and Stan is about to open his eyes, tears be damned, when both kids slam into him, almost knocking him over. They're crying, Stan realizes, and he can't keep them up all upright any longer. He sinks to his knees on the hard floor of the kitchen, arms wrapped around his kids and tears finally tracking down his cheeks.</p><p>-----</p><p>It feels like an eternity, but in reality its only five minutes later. The three have managed to make their way out to the back porch and onto the ancient sofa, Stan in the middle squished between the kids. Mabel had discovered (through the power of a very hard hug) the bottles of polish in Stan's pocket and was busying herself painting the hand within reach a shade of red that matched Stan's fez.</p><p>Dipper has the notebook in his lap, but is studying Stan's face instead of the open page. “Ok, I have an important question. What do you want us to call you?”</p><p>Stan has thought about this, has spent nights awake and staring at the ceiling pondering this question but in the end the answer is simple. “Grunkle Stan is still fine with me. I spent so long being Stanford that... it'll be nice to be Stanley. But...” The next part is not simple and harder to say, but Stan plows onward. “I think I might be more comfortable with different pronouns. Soos said something a couple months ago about 'they/them' being a popular choice and it feels right. If people who don't know me call me he/she I don't think I'll care, but it would be nice if my family could.”</p><p>Beside them, Dipper is absorbed in reading the pages on non-binary identity but Stan catches his nod of acknowledgement. Mabel doesn't look away from her painting (is that a small Holy Order of the Holy Mackerel icon on their thumb?) but pipes up cheerfully after a few moments of quiet thought. “Mx. Mystery has a nice ring to it, Grunkle Stan!”</p><p>“Yeah, it does.” They say with a smile and kiss the top of Mabel's head.</p><p>Together, the three watch one of the last days of summer draw to a golden close. No matter what tomorrow brings, they know they are not alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The End.</p><p>Thank you for taking the time to read my story. There are a lot of little snippets that I wanted to put in (coming out to Ford and some adventures at the Mall) but those just didn't fit the tone of this story. But what I can tell you is that Soos wholeheartedly embraces the Mx. Mystery title when it's handed over and Ford is Extremely Understanding about gender stuff because you can't tell me he hasn't seen some things out in the Multi-verse.</p>
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